Running his fingers along the felt of the table in front of him, the man ruminates on the path that led him here to this room in this moment. Sighing, he sets his morose thoughts aside and turns back to the man across for him. His counterpart is fuming, spitting as he utters curses. Tiring of the tirade, the man interrupts his opposite saying, “You’re certain?”

Trying, and failing, to rein in his emotions the man struggles with himself before answering in the same irate tone as before, “It’s certain. Somehow, Lady Diamond can’t locate her, despite her best efforts. It’s as if she left the country, but nobody should know about how her power works. Clearly, this thief is a damn mastermind, one that’s evidently mocking us with her evasive movements!”

“Do you think we should escalate this to the paint?” asks a man shrouded in black sitting at the other end of the table.

Grimacing, the angry man curses in a low tone and spits out, “I think we have to. It’s time to throw in the towel and pass this along to the Jacks.”

Calmly, the man lets his hand drag across the felt once more. The soft sensation of the fibers against his skin brings clarity and focus to his thoughts. Slowly his hand makes its way across the table until it reaches the chrome of a gun laying at the end of his reach. Skimming the tips of his fingers along the immaculate weapon, he falls into a trance, reaching for his ability.

The subtle motion of the weapon is the only indication of his ability as the other two continue to speak. The discussion grows heated as they disagree over how to handle the situation. Bored by the two, he raises his voice above the argument and asks, “Where is Spade?”

The man at the far end of the room grunts and motions to the lone door before saying in an irritated voice, “He’s probably in the bathroom. You think we should wait and get his opinion?”

The man starts to think of how to phrase answer but quickly discovers it is unnecessary. Without an immediate response, the two men began to ignore him again and returned to fighting over the involvement of the paint. That suits him just fine. Instead of entering the fray, he waits, letting his visible hand drum across the felt while his other rests just out of sight, working his ability on the weapon. Like a spider, his visible hand begins to spin tiny lines of almost invisible thread. Were either of the other two paying attention, they would notice his actions immediately.

But, the man reflects, they consider him a friend, more’s the pity, so they are not watching. He certainly does not share their feelings, no matter what they think. The door opens across the room, shaking him from his thoughts. Walking in is Spade, the target. The man wears a black mask, obscuring his features. A nuisance, he wears his mask religiously, even among friends. This habit of Spade’s forced the man to remain undercover for longer than expected. Were it not for the generosity of the one who took out the contract and, more importantly, his reputation, he would long since have abandoned this charade and slain the group, damn confirming the target before making a move.

Slamming into a chair with an exclamation of satisfaction, Spade exclaims, “Man I feel a lot better! I’m never eating curry and burritos again.” Spade slaps the other man in black on the back and extolls to him, “Oh how nice it is to take a big, fat, sh-”

“Spade!” cries out the other man in black, irritated, “that’s gross. And would you please pay attention? Diamond here says the Queen can’t locate Ginger Snap anymore, even if she does come back to the city. We need to throw in the towel and kick it up to the paint.”

Frowning, Spade looks over to Diamond and asks, “That true?”

Diamond shrugs and gives him a helpless look. Internally, the man disproves of his compatriot’s reliance on the abilities of others. He knows that, given the proper financial incentive, he could find this Ginger Snap in a matter of hours. Or, barring that, he could bring her out into the open and take her down. Yet these three incompetents insist on relying upon the meagre powers of the Queen of Diamonds. Shaking his head, the man reflects on how impotent the arrival of powers made the ordinary man.

Man, the creature, is capable of terrifying feats of agility, strength, intelligence, and power. But introduce a few abilities and everyone begins to rely upon them to the exclusion of their innate machinery. Evolution created an apex predator, a demon given form, a scourge upon the wild creatures of the animal kingdom and when confronted with the slightest challenge most of these perfect animals would curl up and wait to die. Pathetic, but then he was once that way. If it wasn’t for Black, he’d still be dumpster diving. Setting aside his thoughts, the man notices his wires reaching their destination. “Finally,” he whispers.

Glancing in his direction, Diamond pauses the budding argument to ask, “What’d you say Heart?”

Glancing up, the man meets Diamond’s gaze. This is the first time he does so without the mask of his fake identity. Make it real, believe in who you become and none will know the difference. His instructor, an ex-KGB spy who spent years living undercover, beat the words into him years ago. Now, however, he has no need to make it real anymore. He is himself again for the first time in months, ever since he arranged for the death of the previous Ace of Hearts and took his place.

Diamond might be his friend, according to Diamond, and a relative incompetent but he is still a fully trained S.A.P.S. and decorated veteran, or so he was until he joined The Deck. So the man is disappointed that it takes him a full three seconds to reach for his weapon and irritated that the rest of the table needs another two before they react. Dispassionately he pulls his new pistol and puts a bullet in Diamond’s head, heart, and firing hand before moving on to Club, the other man in black. At the other end of the table, Spade is still struggling to remove his weapon from the holster where it remains ensconced in the wire mesh he placed around it minutes ago.

Angry, Spade asks, “How? You didn’t even have a gun when we walked in.”

Heart replies with a question. “You aren’t asking me why?” Then, not waiting for an answer, he shoots Spade in both hands.

Grimacing in agony as he cradles his shattered appendages, Spade mutters through the pain, “It doesn’t matter. I’m dead anyway.”

The man in Heart’s mask walks across the room, first unloading, disassembling, and scattering the fallen men’s weapons first before doing the same to Spade’s sidearm. Then sitting on the table in front of Spade he says in an emotionless voice, “Usually. Yet in this case, it does matter. Your name is Darval Black. You are age thirty-seven. You come from the south side of Chicago, Illinois. Six years ago, you shot and killed a four-year old child in the course of making a drug bust. For this, you lost your job and were convicted in absentia of first-degree murder. Instead of going to prison, you decided to run. A year later you joined The Deck.”

An expression of horror begins to show on Darval’s face as the man continues to speak. “The family of the four-year old got into contact with me through the child’s older brother, a gang member. They offered me four hundred thousand dollars, one for each year of the child’s life, to find you and kill you.” Glancing down at Darval, the man notices his attempts to bring his feet close to his own. Almost as an afterthought, he shoots him in each leg.

Waiting for the agonized moaning to subside, the man resumes speaking when Darval quiets somewhat. “As a bonus, they offered another four hundred thousand if I told you this before I kill you. They also offered another four hundred thousand if I could stretch that process out for some time.” Forming a knife with his power, the man looks down at the cowering figure and adds, “We will be here for a while.”

Several hours later, the man reflects that the stench in the bathroom is almost worse than the smell of the room he just left. Still, he finished the job. Washing his hands several times in the sink, carefully scrubbing to remove all traces of the blood on his hands he allows himself the indulgence of a smile. Looking at his face in the mirror, the contorted expression seems out of place and ugly. The motions are difficult to form properly. If he widens the sides of his mouth, his ugly teeth show and the strain in his cheeks pinches his eyes. If he flares out his lips or curls them upwards, it instead appears as though he is trying to grimace. Regardless, it hardly matters. He does not need to smile. Smiles are a luxury that he has no real need to indulge in.

Still, Black would want him to be happy. Black always cared about Harold’s happiness. Manifesting a plain metal mask, he looks down as a layer of dark metal only he can create winds itself across the plate. The matte black finish looks back at him for a moment before he places it on his face and walks out the room. Harold would enjoy taking a break, but Vicious has work to do before he can leave the city.

Across town, a nervous Hailey Juniper Penze sits across from her best friend waiting for an answer. Unable to take the silence she asks, “So, do you hate me?”

Missy Anderson, without a moment’s hesitation replies, “Don’t be stupid. No, I don’t hate you. But I think you’re an idiot.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re telling me you have this big secret, something you can never tell me, and I’m supposed to keep it from Theo too, I mean how dumb do you think I am?”

Gulping, Hailey continues, “W-what, I mean, I don’t know why you would say that?”

“Hailey,” says Missy, a serious expression on her face, “who was it?”

“Who?”

Impatient, Missy asks again, irritated, “Who did you cheat on Theo with?”

Shocked, Hailey cuts her off immediately exclaiming, “I never cheated on him! I’d never do that!”

“Really?” responds Missy, “because it sure sounds like you did. I get it, I mean you probably feel terrible about it, and then with Becca showing up and the Amanda stuff flaring back up I understand.”

Confused, Hailey has difficulty arranging her thoughts fast enough to make a coherent argument, instead simply asking, “Amanda stuff?”

Missy gives her a reassuring smile. “I know you saw Mr. Rutter. He’s the school’s mental health counselor, so it wasn’t hard to figure out what it was about.”

“Oh.” Hailey sits, stumped by the reveal.

Missy pats her on the arm, continuing, “I feel like a bad friend, I should have realized Becca would make things harder on you. And listen, you don’t need to tell me who it was, actually I probably think it’s better if I don’t know. But you need to promise me that you won’t hurt Theo. If you don’t like him anymore you need to do the right thing and break up with him, he’s my friend too.”

Still slightly shocked, Hailey stammers out, “I didn’t cheat on him.”

Missy fixes her with a stern look, “Either way, don’t do it in the future. But if this isn’t about cheating then you need to seriously consider what this secret is and if it’s so important that you want to keep doing whatever it is you’re doing. People will get hurt, some of them people you care about. Other people, well other people are already getting hurt so you need to be careful.”

“What do you mean?” asks Hailey.

Carefully, Missy answers, “I mean that I’m not the only one who thought cheating might be the problem. Theo really likes you and he’s afraid that he’s losing you.”

What do Missy’s words mean for Hailey’s relationship with her paramour? Does this herald the end of her time with Theo? Time alone will tell. But time brings with it a threat of unknown proportions in… “The Pool of Reflection!”